Mother's Day
by PurpleHairedGenius
Summary: A look into Malory's past. Tired of feeling guilty for not being able to identify Sterling's biological father, Malory explores her past for clues to end her son's annoying inquiries about his father once and for all. Kind of tied into my previous story, Solace of Gemini. Will eventually explain the bombshell ending I left the epilogue on...read up! Rated M (for Mother)
1. Prolouge: Reese's Puzzle Pieces

Prologue: Reese's Puzzle Pieces

Malory Archer adjusted herself on the uncomfortable bus seat, trying to pay attention to her crossword puzzle to distract herself from the other passengers on the crowded Washington DC bus.

The young, aspiring (amateur) actress had always hated having to use public transportation; her mother, Bub, refused to allow Malory to take the family's limousine anywhere alone. Although the Archer family was extremely wealthy (her grandfather was a famously innovative playwright, and her father was a political advisor), her mother rarely allowed her only child access to their fortune.

Malory hated Bub for how protective she was with not only their money, but with her own freedom; although she was 20 years old, Bub only allowed Malory to leave their estate alone for her acting lessons and auditions.

Those were few and far between, and Malory savored every second she could get away. She was on her way to one such audition now, and she couldn't wait for the chance to get her big break into acting.

She sighed, her daydreams of the glamorous life of an actress interrupted by the lingering stench of the other passengers on the bus, and brushed away a stray lock of her raven black hair behind her ear. She muttered something about canned sardines under her breath, and buried her face further into the newspaper in her hand. Malory tapped the eraser end of her pencil against her ruby-red stained bottom lip, struggling to come up with a nine-letter word for 'discreet gathering of intelligence'.

A man dressed in black tapped the young woman on her shoulder, and whispered, "espionage".

Malory quickly turned around, and saw no one. She looked back down at her puzzle, and filled in the letters.

"It...it fits...", she said to herself softly, astounded.

"Of course it fits dear, just like you fit into the world of espionage. You like puzzles?"

Malory looked up to the man in black before her; he was slightly plump, had a kind face, and everything he wore was black and completely spotless. He smiled down at the confused woman.

Malory was completely speechless, but she nodded. Something inside of her told her that this was her way to finally break away from her mother and her oppressed life, and find the adventure and freedom she'd yearned for.

'Wild Bill' Donovan, the founder of OSS, took the young Malory Archer's hand in his.

"Then how would you like a job?"

Malory's new life as a master spy had just begun.


	2. In Vino Veritas

Chapter One: In Vino Veritas

Malory, the head of ISIS, sighed heavily as she leafed through her worn, dog-eared 'little black book' of former lovers, contacts, and various other relations she had gathered over the decades. It was Sterling's birthday, and, like every year, the question of his father came up after the liberal ingestion of alcohol over dinner.

* * *

"Because, Mother! I wanna be a- *hic*! A good dad to my- *hic*! My kids! How ca- *HIC* SHIT...!"

Sterling, still recovering from the attack in Morocco two months ago, had marred the usually-jovial atmosphere of his yearly birthday dinner with his mother with incessant demands to know who his father is. Instead of his traditional birthday starter round of four dry martinis, Sterling had ordered 8 of them, plus a bottle of vodka, all of which he'd polished off by the time Malory arrived to the restaurant.

"Sterling, for the love of GOD, get a hold of yourself! You're going to re-injure your throat with all of that yelling...and quit that damned hiccuping, you're embarrassing me", she hid behind the menu and scowled at her wobbling, extremely inebriated son as he ranted incoherently. Despite her humiliation, she did feel guilty for not being able to tell her only child who his real father was, but...well, the summer she conceived Sterling was-

* * *

About 38 Years Ago

* * *

"...INSANE!"

Malory, now 30, laughed wildly as the handsome, young, blue-eyed Italian protester she had met hours earlier chased her around playfully on the terrace of her luxury hotel suite in downtown Venice on a warm May afternoon.

She had recently completed a mission in Tunisia, and desperately needed some R&R. The captivating young man she had met at a protest downtown had provided much of the latter 'R'.

He finally tackled her down, laughing, and held her wrists down above her head; he pinned her waist down with his body weight, and couldn't help but lose himself in Malory's glistening blue eyes.

"Ti...ti amo, Malory...", he breathed, completely infatuated with this mysterious, sensuous, gorgeous American woman. She smiled back up to him, her cheeks flushed and her breathing heavy.

"...si, lo so. Ora, fare sesso con me", she whispered into his ear.

He did not disappoint her.

* * *

Present

* * *

After making sure Sterling got home to Lana safely (and picking up Woodhouse for the night to not only save him from dealing with the wrath of her drunken son, but to hose off the vomit Sterling left on her brand new Louis Vuitton shoes), Malory went home, and sat at her desk in her study.

She poured herself a glass of pinot noir, and thumbed through the pages of her ancient contacts book, trying to find the name and address of the late Italian protester (and Sterling's possible biological father) she had fallen in love with decades ago. Although he had long since been murdered, any clue to help jog her memory would help.

"Hey, turtledove, how was birthday dinner with Sterling?", Ron said as he poked his head into the study, breaking Malory's concentration.

"Good. Fine. Get out."

Ron raised his eyebrow, and noticed what his wife was reading through.

"Oh...you're not, uh, looking for a date or nothing, right baby love?"

Malory rolled her eyes at her husband's ever-present paranoia whenever he saw her little black book.

"No, Ron, I'm looking for a pizzeria that'll deliver to the _moon_. Now please, dear, leave...go, I don't know, play checkers with Woodhouse, we have him for the whole evening", she motioned towards the lounge down the hallway, where the aging valet was dusting and arranging the various curios and artifacts on their bookshelves.

Ron shook his head disappointingly, and left Malory to continue her search.

She locked the heavy oak door, and pressed her back against it with a sigh.

Malory returned to her desk, and poured herself more wine.

She would find out the truth about Sterling's real father and end his incessant questioning, even if it took her all night.


	3. I Could Never Say No to a Drummer

Chapter Two: I Could Never Say No to a Drummer

"...ladies and gentlemen, please welcome on stage, Buddy Rich and His Orchestra!"

Malory, along with the dozens of other young women in the crowded audience, screamed with excitement as the jazz drummer took his seat behind the drum kit and the horn section began playing along to the infectious beat of his drums.

Although she had already killed half a dozen men in the past year alone, the needs of a liberated, red-blooded young American woman was universal, and Malory was definitely no exception to the said needs of this demographic.

She squealed in delight when Buddy flashed his infamously large, stark white teeth at her specifically in the crowd, and blushed madly when he winked at her when she blew a kiss towards him.

She didn't know she'd wind up bedding the ill-tempered young drummer that very evening after the sold-out show in Italy, nor that she'd be shipped out the following morning to Hong Kong.

* * *

Malory snapped out of her reminiscing to the sound of static coming from the nearby record player; she ran over to the machine, and tenderly lifted the needle from the aged vinyl record of the Buddy Rich single LP, _Buddy Rich and the Big Band: Winning the West_.

Malory grimaced at the ghost of a dusty fingerprint on the black ridges, and returned the album to the safety of it's paper sleeve.

She took a contemplative sip of wine as she looked at the cover of the old album in her hand; the picture of Buddy stirring up more memories of the few times she had...dated him, including during the wild summer of Sterling's conception.

Suddenly, an audible crash was heard from the lounge area of her apartment, followed by a loud thud.

Sterling had somehow sobered up enough to come to her home, and was determined to find out some answers.

"STERLING! Put Woodhouse down this instant!"

She walked out to the absurd scene of her drunk son lifting up Woodhouse by the collar of his shirt, nearly knocking over the checker board on the coffee table where Ron sat, surprised at the sudden violent intrusion.

"I just wanna know who the hell my real father is so I can learn something to be a good dad to my kids, Mother! Why won't you just _try_ to tell me the truth?!", Sterling said as he dropped Woodhouse roughly onto the chair below.

Malory walked up to her son and slapped him across his cheek, and raised up on her tiptoes to bore her eyes into his.

"Now you listen to me, mister, because I'm not telling you again: I'm trying to figure out who you're father is at this very moment, so if you're quite finished making an ass out of yourself, sit down and pull yourself together!"

Sterling narrowed his eyes, not breaking eye contact with Malory, and slowly sat down.

He pulled his flask from his jacket.

"I'm only sitting down and being quiet because I _want_ to, Mother, not because you told me to...", he muttered as he took a long sip from the stainless steel rim with a pout.

"And I'm tired as hell. How the shit a two-month old baby can scream so goddamn loud for so long is beyond me...Christ, you'd think he was part banshee..."

Malory, her fist on her hip, scowled at her son. Ron and Woodhouse just looked to each other, shrugged, and rearranged their checker match.

"Those little crumb-snatchers of yours probably learned it from you...honestly, Sterling, you were nearly strangled to death eight weeks ago, how in God's name are you even _capable_ of making such a racket?"

Sterling remained quiet, and sulked on the couch.

"Now, if you're quite finished being a moron, I need to go back to my study to figure out who cursed me with an obnoxious, alcoholic cretin for a son!"

Malory stormed off back into the hallway and slammed the door to her study behind her, leaving the three men speechless.

Locking the door again, she sighed heavily and returned to her desk.

She wanted to make absolutely sure that Sterling wouldn't discover that his biological father may have been someone very close to him his entire life...Malory unlocked the top drawer of her desk, and pulled out a hand-carved, ivory opium pipe...

...she was going to need something stronger than wine to help her tolerate this particular memory; she reached for a bottle of Glen Goolie Red from the bookshelf behind her.


	4. Chasing the Dragon

Chapter Three: Chasing the Dragon

"REEEGGGIIEE!"

Woodhouse, completely out of his mind on opium, stumbled through the crowded docks of Hong Kong, shouting out the name of his beloved...late superior officer, mournfully.

The middle-aged British man had been an opiate-riddled mess for nearly twenty five years, and it was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't died...Woodhouse, however, saw this miracle as a curse.

His legs wobbled at the knees, and he fell to the weathered, salty wood of the dock. The merchants and sailors walked around his sobbing, curled-up body, ignoring the pathetic, shaking junkie.

"Oh you poor dear...are you American?"

Woodhouse blinked through the layer of tears from his bloodshot eyes, and looked up to see a blurry image of a young woman, her sapphire blue eyes sparkling, despite the drab, grey fog of the port.

"N-no, ma'am...British...", he said wearily. He was grateful to speak English to someone; it had been months since Woodhouse had spoken to anyone in his native tongue.

"Oh...well, close enough, I guess. What's the matter?", the mysterious woman asked kindly. Woodhouse strained his eyes to focus, but the muscle-relaxant effects of the large ball of opium he smoked recently made it difficult to make out any distinctive features on her face...save for those gorgeous, piercing eyes, that is...

...her eyes reminded him of Reggie's.

Woodhouse sniffled, and sat up. The woman kneeled next to him, her arm around his shoulders.

"My close, dear friend died a number of years back, and I've been...I've been quite ill for some time now, and lost in this dreadful port for years..."

The woman's eyes saddened, and she helped him stand up.

"How awful! Are you homeless?"

Woodhouse nodded sadly, and wrapped his arms around his thin shoulders, shivering involuntarily.

"Perhaps you should come with me to my hotel tonight, get a break from all of..._this_", the scowl audible in her voice.

The shaking addict smiled, "That would be wonderful, ma'am..."

Later that night, after his high wore off, Woodhouse woke up on the large silk couch in the woman's dark hotel room. He still couldn't see very well in the darkness, but could see the shapely outline of the strange woman's nude body standing in the doorway.

"Hi, stranger...glad to see you're awake now..."

Woodhouse, speechless, watched silently as the young woman walked towards him, slowly, and crawled up his gaunt frame seductively, her haunting blue eyes never breaking contact with his unfocused ones.

Finally, once their noses were an inch apart, Woodhouse's vision finally sharpened, and saw the face of the woman in front of him for a brief moment, right before his eyes rolled back into his head in sheer pleasure.

As they made love, Woodhouse didn't realize that he would be seeing this woman again in less than a year, in his own bar in Tangier, about to give birth to-

* * *

"-STERLING MALORY ARCHER!"

Malory yelled angrily; Sterling was pounding his fist against the heavy door, and jiggling the doorknob.

"Mother! Come on, how many friggin' men did you sleep with? Jesus!", he yelled back as he started kicking the door.

"Sterling, if you don't stop at once, I won't research this any further, and you'll be clueless as to whom your father is the rest of your life!"

The commotion behind the door stopped, followed by a string of curses and footsteps away from the study. The front door slammed shut; Sterling had finally gone home for the night.

Malory waited a couple of moments, then heard a faint, nearly-inaudible knock on the door.

She unlocked it, and saw Woodhouse, smiling and holding a tray of scones.

"You! Get in here!", Malory whispered as she pulled the aging valet into the study, causing him to drop the tray with a loud 'clang' on the hallway floor behind him.

Locking the door again, she turned to face the confused Woodhouse.

"Do you remember Hong Kong?", she said, pouring herself a glass of scotch.

Woodhouse, straining to remember, looked up to the ceiling.

"Hmm, I somewhat recall my days in that horrible port...why do you ask, m'um?"

Malory grabbed the opium pipe off her desk and turned around, showing Woodhouse.

He immediately recognized it as the gift he left for the kind, mysterious young woman the morning after a night of wild passion in Hong Kong...about...38 years ago...

Woodhouse's beady eyes nearly popped out of his skull once he fully realized what Malory was trying to explain.

"Oh, bloody hell, that was _you_ back in Hong Kong? My god...", he trailed off as he sat down slowly on the chair next to the door, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Yes, dear...and, as you know firsthand, that was about 9 months before Morocco...so, you realize that-"

"Y-yes, m'um, that's quite clear...does Sterling know about this?", the valet scratched his neck nervously, desperate for a fix to calm his nerves after hearing this.

Malory laughed loudly, "You're alive, aren't you? So I'd have to say 'no'...don't feel too bad, I just realized that it was you only a few years ago myself."

Woodhouse, still shocked, looked up to Malory, somewhat bewildered.

"So...shall I inform Ron that you'll be leaving him now?", he said as he stood back up.

"What?! No, you deluded fiend! I'm not even sure if you're Sterling's father, you're just...a candidate. No need to throw the baby out with the bathwater, if you'll excuse the irony..."

Malory locked the pipe back in the desk drawer, and sat down.

"If you breathe a single _word_ of this to Sterling, he will literally kill you, and, if he doesn't, than _I _will, got that?", she warned, pointing at Woodhouse for emphasis.

He nodded, and exited the study quietly to clean up the dropped tray of pastries left in the hall.

Malory ran her fingers through her silver hair, and shook her head, exhausted.

She regretted not telling the valet the bizarre coincidence the moment she discovered it about ten years ago, but she justified it by claiming it was to protect him from Sterling's wrath.

Malory tapped her finger on her desk, and decided to call it a night...she'd pick up where she left off tomorrow.


	5. Twice Shy

Chapter Four: ...Twice Shy

* * *

32 Years Ago

* * *

"Woodhouse?"

Sterling, who had turned 6 years old that day, tugged on the side of his valet's shirt as he washed the dishes from the dinner they had just eaten.

Woodhouse wiped his hands on his black waist apron and looked down at the small boy.

"Yes, Sterling? What is it?"

"Are you my daddy?"

Woodhouse, surprised at the boy's forwardness, was speechless for a few moments.

"No, I'm afraid not, lad...", he said finally, uncomfortable with having to approach such an adult topic with a 6 year old child.

Sterling, clad in his favorite alligator pajamas, furrowed his brow, struggling to understand...

"...then why do you act like my daddy?"

Woodhouse sighed, and realized he couldn't possibly make the boy understand the situation completely. He turned Sterling's shoulders in the direction of his bedroom and handed him a box of crayons.

"That's enough questions for tonight, lad, time for bed now...", Woodhouse muttered quickly as he hurried Sterling out of the kitchen.

Woodhouse watched as he walked away, confused and upset, holding the box of crayons in his small hands. Sterling looked at his valet suspiciously over his shoulder, and went down the hallway to his bedroom without a word.

Shaken by the awkward event, Woodhouse slid his hand over his thinning hair, and removed his apron.

He locked himself in the bathroom the rest of the night, indulging heavily in his "hobby", to forget the evening.

Meanwhile, Sterling doodled pictures on his bed. Wasting time by coloring was one of the few escapes from the depressing environment he lived in; his mother, Malory, had visited him for a few days recently before leaving on another mission. In the brief time she was home, she had spanked him multiple times for various reasons (he thought it'd be funny to hide her bottles of gin in the broom closet...he was promptly introduced to the wooden spoon afterwards), but he liked to pretend she wasn't so mean.

Sterling smiled as he drew a picture of himself and his mother hugging. He wished that Real Mother was as nice as Crayon Mother...

Suddenly, Sterling's bedroom door opened unexpectedly, startling the boy and interrupting his daydream of having a nice mother.

"Hello, Sterling. Your mother doesn't know I'm here, but I wanted to bring you a birthday present. I hope you like alligators!"

A tall man in a suit handed Sterling a stuffed toy alligator. The boy was astonished how much the stranger looked like himself...

"I do...thank you, mister! But, who _are_ you?"

He looked up to the smiling man, hugging his new toy close to his chest.

"Sterling, I'm your real father."

The boy gasped, amazed at hearing this news. He'd thought his father, John Fitzgerald Archer, died when he was 3, even though he suspected Woodhouse to be his dad lately.

The man ruffled Sterling's hair affectionately with a soft chuckle, and turned to leave, silent.

Sterling hopped off the bed, trying to follow his father, but the man in the suit stopped him abruptly, and kneeled down to look at him directly, their matching ice-blue eyes inches apart.

"Sterling, your mother doesn't know that I'm your real father, although we were once quite close. Remember that I'll always be watching over you. But I can't stay here with you...I'm sorry", he said calmly as he stood up again.

The boy wiped a tear from his face stubbornly and glared at the mysterious man, furious.

"Why? Please, take me with you, Fa-"

He was cut off by the man stepping out the front door quickly, the deadbolt locking from the outside. The hollow sound of footsteps heading down the empty apartment building hallway rang clear in the chilly air of the poorly-insulated OSS safehouse.

Sterling tried turning the knob, but it wouldn't budge. He began to cry, feeling frustrated and abandoned. After hitting and kicking at the door angrily, all he could do was cling onto the stuffed toy alligator and drift off to sleep, curled up behind the locked front door.

He never saw the man in the suit after that night, but there were times throughout his life that he sensed someone was watching him from afar.

* * *

Present

* * *

Sterling stirred from his drunken sleep from the floor. He groaned as he rubbed his hand on his aching head, and felt around his surroundings blindly for a bottle to soothe his inflamed throat and silent the incessant ringing in his tinnitus-rattled ears.

Eventually, his hand found a bottle, but instead of delicious, comforting, golden bourbon, he got a mouthful of chunky, lukewarm baby formula.

Archer spat out the disgusting liquid with a cough. He opened his eyes and saw that he had passed out on the floor in his sons' nursery; Leon and Lewis were sleeping soundly in their cribs, on either side of where their father sat.

He hoisted himself up slowly and carefully, and set the baby bottle on the nightstand next to the old rocking chair. Sterling leaned on the railing of Leon's crib, and felt overwhelmingly guilty as he looked down on his sleeping son's peaceful face.

This was the kind of weird shit his own mother did to him when he was a kid; passing out in a drunken mess in random places, screaming at people...how could he do this to his own kids?

He rubbed his tired, bloodshot eyes, the stinging of tears forming irritating them further. Sterling brushed the back of his hand tenderly against Leon's chubby cheek. He decided at that moment that he would have to learn to be a good father on his own.

He walked out of the nursery, and gently shut the door. Archer sighed, and shuffled down the hallway towards his and Lana's bedroom. He had to go deal with an angry fiancée, as well as a raging hangover.

This was not going to be a good day.


	6. Segredos do Brasil

Note: Okay folks, this is the big, fat reveal chapter! This is my own theory of who is actually Archer's father, based on things I've observed on the show...and the references made to a certain movie from 1973. Hate me if you must after reading this, but if you follow the series carefully enough, and keep an eye out for the subtle hints supporting this, you can't argue with the logic! Also, I realize this is not as funny as my usual stuff. In fact, this whole story has leaned more towards drama rather than humor compared to my other Archer stories, but I've felt it's a refreshing change of pace that allows for a look into the darker storylines and topics of the show (and it is definitely a dark show, if you look beyond the incredibly intelligent, clever humor...Adam Reed is an amazing writer for being able to balance this seamlessly in every episode) in a way that's typically not explored. Anyway, feel free to throw in your own theories (as well as any questions, flames, or declarations of love), in the comments! There'll be one last chapter after this, then I'm going to be taking a hiatus from for a bit to catch up on some of my other projects.

But be forewarned, I've officially made it _weird._

* * *

Chapter Five: Segredos do Brasil

* * *

38 Years and Some Months Ago

* * *

Malory ran for cover behind a decaying temple ruin, and replaced the empty clip on her AK-47 quickly. Franklin Kleinhammer, her partner from OSS, sat beside her boots, tending to his wounds.

The two spies had been betrayed by the third person in their surveillance team. He turned out to be a double-agent for the eccentric neo-Nazi terror group they had been sent to Brazil to investigate; Malory and Franklin were ambushed by the Nazi guards, and, at the moment, they were out-gunned, out-numbered, and had no means of contacting OSS for backup or even an evac.

They were, it seemed, completely and utterly screwed.

"Franklin...I don't think we're getting out of this one...", Malory said down to Franklin as she fired the assault weapon into the cluster of oncoming guards. He looked up to his slightly younger partner, his vivid blue eyes barely hinting at the agony his bullet-ripped shoulder was causing him.

"Don't say that, Mal...you're strong, fight these Nazi bastards! I...I love you...", Franklin encouraged. He cringed in pain as he fired his revolver behind the mossy stone of the temple wall, taking out several Nazi soldiers without aiming as he stared upwards, lovingly, into Malory's eyes.

Malory stared back at Franklin, oblivious to the hail of bullets whizzing by her head. Aside from working together, they had been in a relationship for months. The first night they slept together was the day she returned to the US from her crazy summer abroad, and had been lovers since. She dared to admit that she loved the handsome, auburn-haired Jewish man, who was the father to her unborn child. She didn't know for sure if Franklin was the father (he was definitely a likely candidate, but so was a young Russian soldier she had slept with a few weeks before returning, as well as another OSS agent, Len Trexler), since she had no idea precisely how many months pregnant she was at the time and had been too busy with missions to keep track of anything else, but Franklin was the only one willing to stick with her despite her wild past and her pregnancy, and that was good enough for Malory.

Her loving gaze was immediately shattered by a shell full of rock salt being shot into her chest by the Nazi soldier standing in front of her, the excruciating pain bringing her to her knees. In her last conscious moments before hitting the dirt, Malory saw Franklin shoot the shotgun-wielding guard in the head, and firing into the group of Nazis with her dropped AK-47 as he mournfully cried out her name. She clutched at her swollen abdomen as her shoulder fell onto the jungle floor with a dull 'thud'. Her final thoughts were of regret, devastated that she would never give birth to her and Franklin's baby.

* * *

Some time later, the young spy opened her eyes slowly. She was blinded by an intense light above her; she was wearing a paper hospital gown, her torso and wrists strapped down tight to the cold steel of a surgical table. Malory could hear German and Portuguese being spoken nearby, and see vague outlines of faceless men moved around the small surgical theater.

"Ela é perfeita...", a voice uttered from down below. Malory attempted to kick the unseen surgeon, who was doing something to her behind a plastic screen that blocked her view. Her feet were strapped firmly into stirrups; she couldn't budge. The small, weak cries of a baby were heard moments later, a second man in a surgical mask wrapped it up in a towel, and carried it out of the operating room quickly, as another ran in with a glass container.

Disoriented from the shock of seeing her premature baby being taken away from her by Nazi scientists and helpless to save him, she could only scream at the top of her lungs in anguish as she fainted on the table.

* * *

When she awoke, she was back in the jungle, near the temple ruins. Malory sat up quickly, the lingering memory of nightmarish event fresh in her otherwise foggy mind. Panicking, she felt her abdomen; her unborn baby was still there, safe and sound.

"Thank god! Must've been a dream...", Malory thought to herself as she leaned her back against the cold stone, relieved that she was intact. Disoriented, she struggled to remember where she was as she slowly stood up on her abnormally weak legs.

The distant sound of a helicopter tore through the sounds of the rainforest soon after she came to; somehow, OSS had found her location, and had come to evacuate her.

In the helicopter, Malory winced at a strange pain below her belly button, and readjusted her safety harness. She never noticed the faint scar left on her stomach after that strange night in Brazil, even after she gave birth to Sterling in Tangier months later.

Malory had no clue that she had been a captive in Brazil for nearly six months; her memories of the past year were permanently lost due being in a medically-induced coma. She also hadn't noticed an entire year had passed since that wild summer she presumed she became pregnant.

* * *

Present

* * *

"Jesus, Krieger, what the hell is your goddamned problem?!"

Archer yelled at Dr Krieger, who was backing away fearfully, scared senseless after seeing Leon and Lewis, who were sitting in their stroller next to their parents. It had been over a month since the night of Archer's birthday, and he had long forgotten about trying to find out who his real father is. Instead, Archer had quickly become a surprisingly responsible father on his own, and had brought his twin sons to ISIS that day for Pam's belated baby shower.

Krieger's gaze darted around the room nervously, the stares of his coworkers further agitating his fears.

"I-I...I gotta...ah, schisse!"

He ran away towards the elevator in a cold sweat, leaving his confused coworkers behind. Archer and Lana looked at each other, then looked at Leon and Lewis. The twin boys were sitting quietly, equally confused as their parents.

Malory, standing next to Sterling, narrowed her eyes in the direction of the ISIS laboratory, and excused herself from the room.

"Excuse me, dears..."

Malory took the elevator down to the ISIS lab, infuriated that Krieger was ruining her grandsons' special event.

The elevator doors opened to the lab, where Krieger was stuffing things into a leather briefcase in a panic. Malory walked up to him and slapped him sharply across the face, bringing him back to reality.

"Krieger, I can't have you running away, screaming like a prepubescent girl every time you see a baby that looks even remotely like those-"

"But there were TWO of them! Two IDENTICAL ones! Like th-the clones in Braz-"

Malory slapped him again.

"KRIEGER! You were Mengele's SON, not one of those horrible, filthy clones! You were...special. That's why I brought you to ISIS after that accident with your pet Dobermans..."

Krieger's bottom lip quivered. He bursted into tears and wrapped his arms tightly around Malory.

Malory rolled her eyes and returned the hug, rubbing Krieger's back soothingly.

Malory uncharacteristically comforted Dr Krieger as he collected himself, neither one knowing that the the sobbing scientist in her arms was, in fact, her and Franklin's long-lost, biological son.

Although she never knew why, she always felt a strange connection to Krieger, who she had brought back from Brazil almost 25 years ago, even going so far as to take him to movies and the occasional off-Broadway play.

Krieger was forcibly delivered almost 3 months premature via Cesarean by Dr Mengele's surgical team in Brazil, about 39 years ago, and was raised by the notorious Nazi scientist until his fifteenth birthday, when his dogs suddenly attacked and killed his father. Malory, who was recruiting staff for her new spy agency, ISIS, at the time, had heard reports of the boy's unconventional scientific experiments (he had used Nazi lab resources to successfully create a hybrid rat/pig). Considering Dr Mengele's cloning project, the boy was also a possible clone of Hitler; she decided, based on these factors, that this brilliant, eccentric teenager would be an essential member of ISIS. She had arranged for Krieger's dogs' food to be drugged with a cocktail of PCP, psilocybin, and amphetamines while he was celebrating his birthday, and she made sure she was waiting outside the gates of the compound to pick him up as the Dobermans tore Mengele to shreds.

Unknown to anyone, Sterling Malory Archer was the last living genetic clone of Adolf Hitler, aka a "boy from Brazil", his thick black hair and bright blue eyes a dead giveaway. Unbeknownst to her, Malory was the surrogate mother of the last remaining clone of the project. After the implantation of the copied egg that would eventually become Sterling, she had been drugged and kept captive in the Nazi laboratory in Brazil for 6 months, the implanted embryo growing within her under the close observation of Dr Mengele's scientific staff, until the fateful night Franklin had returned, broke into the lab, set it on fire to destroy all traces of the project and all of the remaining Nazis soldiers and surgeons inside, and rescued her, thinking she was still pregnant with _their_ child...

* * *

38 Years Ago

* * *

Franklin carried Malory's unconscious, pregnant body into the dark jungle, away from the burning Nazi laboratory, his OSS distress beacon in his pocket.

During the firefight half a year ago, Franklin was shot and severely burned over his torso and back by a flamethrower. He was presumed dead by both OSS and the Nazi terrorists, yet he miraculously survived, thanks to a tribe of natives a few miles away that found his smoldering body near one of their temples, and had nursed him back to health. After several months of living with the tribe and healing, Franklin retraced his way back to where he last saw Malory, and used the skills the native hunters had taught him to track her down to the Nazi lab where she was held.

Franklin still loved Malory, but the burns had left most of his body covered in horrific scars, but his head, face, and hands were left unscathed. Knowing how much Malory hated the deformed and the ugly (she had vomited in disgust when he brought her to a sideshow at the circus when they saw Lobster Boy), Franklin assumed she'd be happier if Malory, and everyone else, thought he was dead. More importantly, their child would have a better future, not having to have a deformed father to be ashamed of.

Franklin choked back a frustrated tear as he laid Malory down gently on the rainforest floor, caressing her bulging abdomen one last time. He activated the OSS beacon, hid it near her in a nearby rubber plant, and ran into the night. He watched from afar as the rescue chopper picked up Malory and carried her home. Franklin sighed, and began walking towards the village of natives that had accepted him as their own.

He promised himself he would be his child's guardian angel, never seen but always present. Franklin's training in covert surveillance and the tracking skills the tribe had taught him would make this possible in the decades ahead as he watched his only son, Sterling, grow. He was even able to visit him in person one year on his birthday, and he could slip away without a trace.

Meanwhile, in Dr Mengele's fenced compound, the infamous Nazi scientist sat in his study as he rocked his tiny, adopted, 6-month old son in his arms peacefully. His pet Doberman puppies slept soundly beside his feet in front of the fireplace.

"I will name you...Doctor. Doctor Algernop Krieger...", he said aloud, smiling. His white, pressed suit and yellow kercheif matched the patterns on the soft cotton blanket swaddling the baby in his arms.

Baby Krieger stirred, looked up at Dr Mengele with his bright green eyes, and fell back asleep.

Dr Mengele didn't notice the smoke rising in the air in the distance from his laboratory down the hill until the next morning, his lifetime of work leaving on a helicopter headed towards Washington DC.


End file.
